


All I Am

by roseclaw



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseclaw/pseuds/roseclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon and Jon are in Gotham on assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Am

**Fandom:** Bandom: P!atD and TYV (cameos by CS, FOB, MT, MCR)  
**Pairing:** Spencer/Brendon   
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 11,585 words  
**Spoilers:** see disclaimer  
**Warnings:** This fic is superhero AU and therefore contains violence.  
**Author's Note:** [Soooo.... There was this picture posted on Twitter...](http://twitpic.com/vobcf) and that [coupled with this thread on](http://community.livejournal.com/failboatsinlove/89294.html?thread=623822#t623822) [](http://community.livejournal.com/failboatsinlove/profile)[**failboatsinlove**](http://community.livejournal.com/failboatsinlove/) led to this. And _then_ [](http://xbeax.livejournal.com/profile)[**xbeax**](http://xbeax.livejournal.com/) totally coerced me into it. And by coerced, I mean she mentioned that I should do it, then cheer leaded. Beta by [](http://saekokato.livejournal.com/profile)[**saekokato**](http://saekokato.livejournal.com/). This is self-indulgent crack.   
**Disclaimer:** Batman is really Bruce Wayne, and Superman is really Clark Kent. They belong to DC Comics.  
**Disclaimer 2:** I do not condone the use of any conjugation of the verb "to get" in place of any conjugation of the verb "to be."  
**Summary:** Brendon and Jon are in Gotham on assignment.

 

All I Am

Brendon adjusts the collar on his tuxedo and hopes that his bow tie is straight. Brendon doesn't have any issues with a suit and tie but black tie is a completely different animal. At least he's not the one in charge of the red carpet: he can stay inside and hide out by the punch bowl until it's his turn to work the crowd. Okay, there's really no punch bowl, because this place is too classy for that. Brendon hides out by the entrance to the kitchens.

Brendon's never been to one of Spencer Smith's parties before, but he reads the gossip page. He even edits the gossip page. Pete has sent Brendon and Jon to cover Spencer Smith's latest product line debut for _The Daily Planet_. It's a new piece of technology that's beyond Brendon's comprehension. Brendon wonders if even the philandering Smith understands it despite the fact that his company designed it. But Brendon and Jon have a company-paid trip to Gotham, and if Brendon's lucky, he'll see this infamous vigilante Batman that's rumored to have cut down the crime rate in Gotham by about half. He can make it through a black tie affair for that. Also. While Brendon may not approve of Smith's womanizing ways, he has to admit that Smith is beautiful. Pete knows that Brendon likes beautiful things. Brendon hates Pete just a little.

Jon is better at this sort of affair, which is why he's out on the red carpet. However, Brendon is one of the top science correspondents for _The Daily Planet_. He needs to be at this circus and hopes it'll be painless. Usually Brendon's sent out to the middle of nowhere. He likes the middle of nowhere: he's free to be himself there. A black tie affair is _not_ the middle of nowhere. There are too many people around him, and it's cramped. And the champagne is bitter not sweet. So sad.

When Smith finally arrives, he has a brunette on his left arm, a blonde on his right arm, and a redhead following him. Brendon has to keep himself from scoffing. He doesn't understand how someone like that ends up with so much play. Well, actually, he does: Smith's rich, pretty, and only looking to have fun – nothing serious. Plus, to be seen on the arm of _the_ Spencer Smith is the quickest way to those fifteen minutes of fame. Smith probably has every venereal disease known to man and a few that aren't.

Zack Hall follows in the wake of hormones. Wherever Smith goes, Hall follows. It's been that way since Smith was in diapers. Hall isn't exactly what Brendon envisions when he thinks of a butler, but he is what Brendon envisions when he thinks of a bodyguard. Hall does both for Smith.

Smith's movements don't flow properly, and Brendon comes to the not-quite-shocking conclusion that Smith is drunk.

Of course, Smith is drunk.

Brendon grabs a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. He sips on it delicately and tries not to crush the stem between his thumb and forefinger.

Thankfully, Jon also follows Smith inside. Jon, however, happens to be in a deep conversation with Ryan Ross. Jon's also jotting down notes onto his little flip pad.

Ross has always been part of whatever Smith has and that includes Smith Enterprises. Ross is the head of the project of the product to be released tonight. Brendon's surprised – but not by much because Jon has the power of awesome as well as some extras – that Jon managed to snag Ross before any of the gossip rag vultures.

Jon's working, so Brendon supposes he should as well.

Brendon winds his way through the dense crowd of taffeta and overpriced Italian suits to Smith and his harem.

And then something sounds wrong. Off. It's a quick scrape of rubber on concrete that hits in an uneven pattern. Brendon's heard it often enough to know what's about to happen. No one invited to this reception is wearing sneakers, and there's only one reason someone with sneakers would run into the building at an uneven pace.

Brendon hurries to Smith's side as someone covered in black with the hood of a sweatshirt pulled over to obscure the face bursts out of the crowd. Brendon hears the tense sound of a blade being pulled from a scabbard, and he almost releases a sigh of relief. It's only a knife. Explaining a gunshot wound that isn't is a bit more difficult than saying the knife missed the skin.

This person heads directly for Smith.

Brendon easily disarms the attacker, and he belatedly realizes that he's supposed to have the attacker's momentum transferred into him as opposed to absorbing it. The knife breaks and shatters in Brendon's hand, hidden from view, the attacker's arm breaks in three places – something Brendon isn't too proud of, but it couldn't have been avoided, and Brendon's pushed into a wall and belatedly realizes that he needs to pull back before his head puts a hole through the wall.

He also belatedly realizes that people pass out when they crash into a wall. Right. Brendon will let the police handle the attacker.

~

 

Brendon stops pretending to be unconscious when he knows that he's alone in the room with Jon.

"Oh, sit up, you fucktard," Jon says. He sounds more exasperated than upset. "I know you're not unconscious or even hurt."

Brendon sighs and sits up. He's in one of Smith's exorbitant guest rooms.

"Seriously," Jon says. "What the fuck were you thinking? Smith has staff to take care of things like that."

"I didn't think, Jon," Brendon says. He sighs.

"Stop sighing," Jon tells him. "I understand the need to prevent horrible things: that's what we do. But was it really the best decision right now? We're supposed to be covering this reception. We're press: we schmooze and blend into the background."

Jon has a fine green light around his body, which is a sure sign that Jon is truly upset.

"You're glowing," Brendon whispers.

Jon frowns and pulls off his ring. He makes a fist around it.

"The point is that Smith has Hall," Jon says thinly. "He was right there next to Smith. He would have handled it. It's his _job_, not yours."

"I understand, Jon," Brendon says. "I just couldn't let it happen. It was a reflex!"

"You shouldn't stick your indestructible ass in harm's way just because it's a reflex," Jon shoots back. "What if you had been exposed? There was a room full of press and the highest of Gotham society."

"Jon," Brendon says sternly. "You use your ring to rescue kittens from trees."

"In costume," Jon responds. "Which is exactly my point! If you had saved Smith in costume, it would be completely different, but right now you're Brendon Urie, science correspondent for _The Daily Planet_ \- not – "

"Smith's coming," Brendon hisses.

Jon clamps his mouth shut as the door is pushed open.

Smith and Hall bustle into the room. Brendon's never seen Smith without a woman on an arm. He hadn't thought those particular accessories were detachable just interchangeable. Apparently they are both.

"You're awake, Mr. Urie," Smith observes. "Good. I asked Mr. Walker if you were in need of a doctor, and he declined for you. _Do_ you need a doctor?"

"No," Brendon says. "I'm good."

"Good," Smith says with a smile. Damn, he's beautiful. "It would be poor form to leave the press for want of anything."

It's both a good and a bad thing that Smith still sees Brendon as a reporter.

"Is there anything you need?" Smith asks. "I am in your debt for your heroics."

Brendon doesn't need anything… except to call Pete to apologize for making headlines instead of writing them. Brendon will probably be able to hear Pete's donkey laughter all the way from Metropolis. However, Brendon doesn't want to be around when Pete tells Patrick that Brendon didn't get his piece. Which…

"Just one thing," Brendon says in his best reporter voice. Smith recoils minutely. "I missed the unveiling of your newest piece of technology. Would it be possible for a one-on-one interview?"

Smith looks to Hall, who gives Smith an unreadable look.

"If the party can continue without you," Brendon adds.

"No one will notice my absence," Smith says a bit stiffly. "Very well. Let's get this over with. "

Brendon smiles and looks around for his notepad and his pen. He finds them on the night stand next to his glasses and phone. He'd forgotten about his glasses. He slips them on, and there is a small spider web crack in the lower part of the left frame. He'll need to have them replaced when he returns to Metropolis. Good thing he really doesn't need his glasses to see.

"Please take a seat," Brendon offers.

Smith gives Brendon a withering look, but he takes the seat next to Jon. Hall stands behind Smith.

"Sources say that this new technology is a marriage between Smith Technologies and Smith Biotech. Can you please elaborate on this?" Brendon asks.

"Your sources are correct," Smith says. "My best technicians created a plastic contact that goes directly onto the eye and lets a person see in the dark."

"To clarify, you mean infrared night vision?" Brendon asks.

Smith nods.

"And is this more of a marriage between Smith Tech and Smith Biotech or more of a sordid tryst?" Brendon asks sweetly.

Smith narrows his eyes slightly and stiffens notably.

Hall leans down to whisper in Smith's ear: "Play nice. You need all the good press you can handle."

Smith says between gritted teeth, "This isn't good press: it's a fucking farce."

"Behave yourself and answer the damn questions," Hall whispers back.

"Is this because you wish to choose your wardrobe while it's still dark out as not to wake your guests?" Brendon asks, which is so way over the line that he immediately regrets it.

Jon mutters under his breath, "Too fucking far, Urie."

Brendon makes eye contact with Jon to let him know he was heard.

"My wardrobe is always tasteful," Smith says. "But you are a science correspondent."

"That I am," Brendon says. "How does a thin layer of plastic allow one to see past red visible light and into the infrared?"

"You're going to need to ask Ryan Ross about that," Smith says. There's something in the way Smith says it that makes Brendon think he's doing more than simply deflecting the question. Smith wants Brendon to think he knows nothing about the actual technology, but Smith's body language is off. Smith is most definitely not drunk as Brendon had previously assessed, so that isn't it.

"You don't know?" Brendon asks.

Smith nods and licks his lips. He has a tiny scar on his chin, just under his lip. Brendon idly wonders how many women have licked it.

"Okay," Brendon says. "Why was this technology created?"

"It's to help with the war effort in the Middle East," Smith says. "If our troops are able to travel in the dark without heavy goggles on, it will give us the advantage."

"War technology?" Brendon asks.

"It has other uses," Smith says with a shrug and a devilish grin. He's still off, and even though Brendon's mind immediately slips into the gutter, he can't help the niggling feeling that Smith pushed it there.

"That's too high of a price to pay just to play kinky games," Brendon says.

"With mass production, the cost will decrease," Smith says.

Brendon doesn't know what to make of Smith. One moment he talks about economics and the other he talks about sex. Brendon realizes that if he wants any science content, he's going to need to speak with Ross, which is a shame, because Smith is prettier, but it's not too much of a shame, because Ross is still pretty. Brendon appreciates the aesthetics.

He takes pity on Smith, who's trying very hard not to yell at Brendon. Brendon can tell by the pinched look on Smith's face.

"Now, Mr. Smith, I'm really curious: what is your opinion of the Batman? Off the record, of course," Brendon adds when he notices Smith's expression harden. "This seems like the type of technology he could use."

"The Batman is an urban myth and a ridiculous one," Smith declares. "A man dressing up as a giant, flying rodent to allegedly rid Gotham of criminals? That is not the mark of a sane man."

"Metropolis has Superman. He dresses up in tights and a cape, but he still exists," Brendon points out. "So I don't think that argument stands."

"This interview is over," Smith says as he surges to his feet. "I have guests to attend to. I'm sure you can see your own way out."

Hall leads Smith out of the room.

Shortest interview ever.

"Wow," Jon says. "I didn't know you could be such a dick. Doesn't that go against your image?"

"Which image?" Brendon asks sweetly. He bats his eyelashes at Jon.

"Pete's going to kill you if he finds out you were so unprofessional," Jon reminds him. "You should call him, anyway."

Brendon sighs.

"Stop sighing," Jon says. "Call Pete."

Brendon calls Pete.

"You gonna quit and become a bodyguard?" Brendon assumes that's Pete's greeting and not a serious question to consider. "Or a superhero? I can totally see it now: reporter by day, vigilante by night!" Pete has a very active imagination, something Brendon is very happy for, because most of the time, Pete thinks Brendon's weirdness is only in his own head.

"So you've already heard?" Brendon asks. If Brendon didn't know all too well that Pete was human, he'd swear up and down - under oath! - that Pete was a meta if only for Pete's uncanny way of knowing everyone else's business. At least Pete chose the right career.

"Yeah," Pete says. "Remember my friend Mikey? Apparently his brother was there and shot a picture of it on his phone. You should see yourself, man. This is going to be front page above the fold!"

Brendon groans. "Please don't."

"Too late!" Pete sings. "It's already in motion. I figured because you wouldn't have the piece you were sent out for, we could use this instead. It's a lot sexier than whatever tech Smith's come up with now. Valdez is gonna be pissed he missed that shot."

"But I have my piece," Brendon protests. He then grumbles, "If Shane weren't off on his honeymoon, that wouldn't have been a problem."

"Awesome," Pete says. "That can be in Monday's edition. Tell Jon that I want his piece by Saturday at noon."

"I'll let him know," Brendon agrees.

"Good," Pete says. "Has Jon yelled at you for being stupid yet?"

"Yes," Brendon says long-sufferingly.

"Good," Pete says again. "Because you were stupid. I don't want to lose you to some wacko with an agenda."

Brendon declines to comment, because he knows that he would end up saying something about Pete being a wacko with an agenda, but Brendon's been enough of a dick for one night. Although, Pete would probably laugh and ask if he could quote Brendon on that.

"I'll see you Monday," Brendon says. "I'll have my piece sent in by Sunday."

"You're the best, Bden," Pete says. "Now go get drunk for me."

"Alright," Brendon says with a laugh. He closes up his phone.

~

 

Jon dumps his notes onto the desk in their hotel room and takes out his laptop.

"I'm going to compile all this info," Jon states. "You need to relax." He eyes Brendon suspiciously.

Brendon's been anxious since they left the Smith party. He knows this, and he knows it's because the attack feels like unfinished business. He needs wide open spaces.

"I think I'm going to head out," Brendon announces.

Jon's head shoots up from his laptop. "Are you taking Pete's advice or are you going out on patrol?"

"I don't have enough money to get drunk," Brendon says. "I don't think even Smith has enough money for me to get drunk."

"Damn you and your metabolism," Jon grumbles. "You want me to join you on patrol?"

"Nah," Brendon says. "You have a deadline to make. Then _I_ think _you_ plan to get drunk."

"Alright," Jon sighs. "But make sure you head out in costume this time."

"Fuck you, Jon Walker," Brendon says primly.

Jon waggles his eyebrows until Brendon giggles.

~

 

Brendon foils three assaults, two muggings, and a robbery within the first hour he's on patrol.

He sits on the edge of a roof, his legs dangling off the edge.

It's rare for a night like this in Metropolis. "Gotham really is a cesspool of crime," Brendon mutters to himself.

"Then go back to your ivory tower in Metropolis," a shadow answers.

"So the Batman really does exist," Brendon muses. This is exciting! He can't wait to tell Jon.

The shadow separates from another shadow, and the Batman stands in front of Brendon.

The Batman sort of growls menacingly.

Brendon scrambles to his feet with a frown. His glee at meeting the Batman is curbed because, well, the Batman's a jerk. And Brendon's not deaf either. In fact he has super-awesome hearing, and he's good at recognizing voices. He also has super-awesome vision, and he remembers that sliver of a scar.

Brendon fires back, "At least some of us are sane enough not to dress up as a giant bat, Smith. And you're welcome for the help with the crime fighting."

"And some of us realize that there's a need to protect our identities, usually with a cowl, Urie. Taking off your glasses isn't the best way to hide your identity."

Brendon shrugs. "People see what they want. Plus, I tried a domino: it chaffed."

"Out of my city, Urie," Smith growls.

Brendon shrugs and takes off.

~

 

"So I met the Batman," Brendon says.

Jon looks up to Brendon. Brendon's hovering above his bed as he tends to do when he's agitated.

"So he's real?" Jon asks.

"Real enough to be a douche," Brendon says. He then tells Jon about the encounter he had with the Batman. He doesn't mention that the Batman is Smith. "Gotham is full of douches."

"He also knows who you are," Jon reminds him.

"I know," Brendon moans. He darts around the room until he accidentally hits his head on the ceiling. He's really indignant. Both about Smith and hitting his head on the ceiling.

He rubs plaster out of his hair.

"Sit down, will you," Jon says. "I compiled all of my notes from when I spoke with Ross. You're going to be interested in them."

Brendon doesn't sit down as much as perch on the desk.

"In your epically short and painful interview with Smith," Jon says. Brendon scoffs, but Jon continues, "Smith mentioned this tech is for the military."

Brendon nods. He remembers this.

"Ross never said anything of the sort. Actually, he said that they used some military tech as a base for this tech."

"That could be," Brendon says. "If the military had the infrared tech, Ross could have easily improved it for military use. You know, as a consultant. Smith didn't exactly stick around to volunteer any details."

"That's only the start of it," Jon says.

"Yeah?" Brendon prompts.

"Ross explained that Smith was the one who came up with the idea for the actual project, so no, Ross wasn't a consultant."

"Is the military actually involved?" Brendon asks.

"I'm not sure," Jon says.

"So why would Smith want us – the world – to think this was for the military?" Brendon asks.

"That's not what I'm most worried about," Jon says. He nibbles on his lower lip.

"Ah," Brendon says. "What is it really for?"

"Exactly," Jon says with a nod.

In the space it takes Jon to blink, Brendon has changed back into his costume.

Jon breaks into a smile. "I like the way you think."

~

 

"I love how all these super-secret labs always have skylights," Brendon says.

Jon looks up at him from the other side of the skylight. "It makes our jobs so much easier."

Brendon looks down at Ryan Ross, who's puttering around the lab. His hair sticks up at odd angles, and as far as Brendon can tell, he's talking to himself.

"What's he working on?" Jon asks.

"Haven't a clue," Brendon responds.

"You can't hear or see what he's doing?" Jon shoots back.

"I can," Brendon says. "I just don't know what he means. He's talking in half sentences, and his notes are what looks like calculus and Farsi."

"Ross doesn't speak Farsi," Jon reminds him. "That's suspicious."

"I know, but that's what it looks like," Brendon says. He looks harder. "Hold on, I haven't spoken Farsi in about a year… No, wait, his handwriting just sucks."

"So," Jon says. "Waste of time?"

"I think the press would have a better job finding the answers than superheroes," Brendon surmises.

"I can convince Pete to let us stay another day," Jon offers.

"He said my piece wasn't due until Sunday," Brendon says. "I assumed that's when he wants us back."

"I need to finish up my piece tonight, though," Jon says.

"Call him when we get back," Brendon says. "He never sleeps anyway, and he'll love the idea of us squeezing more headlines out of Gotham."

Jon stands. "Alright, let's head back." His posture changes. "Uh, bad news."

"It's not really bad news," Brendon says. "Well, it has the _potential_ to be bad news but – "

"Different kind of bad news," Jon says. "I think someone is trying to break in."

"Oh, well," Brendon says with a grin. "We can be useful, then. And I'm in costume this time."

"I'm proud of you, man," Jon feigns pride, pretending to wipe a tear away from the eye slits of his domino.

"Fuck you," Brendon sing-songs. "Let's go foil this break-in."

~

 

It turns out to be ridiculously easy to foil the break-in. There were no broken windows or broken vats of bubbling acid – but mostly the no broken windows part, mostly because there were no vats of bubbling acid to break. It was horribly anticlimactic. They had even taken the stairs down.

Brendon, however, had taken three bullets to the chest and one to the head. It was annoying. When were people going to learn that bullet-proof meant he was _bullet-proof_?

Jon had fabricated some sort of cage to keep the culprit in, and he is currently enjoying making the cage smaller and smaller. Jon has a bit of a sadistic streak when he wants answers. So far they've only been able to find out that the man doesn't want to talk.

Ross seems to be in shock about the whole thing, staring at them blankly.

"The fuck?" he growls. "What the hell is wrong with you two?"

"They don't realize that they're in _my_ city."

"I told you he was a douche, GL," Brendon tells Jon.

"Yeah, Supes," Jon says. "I see it."

"Batman," Ross says firmly. "You're late." It's the kind of tone a housewife would give her husband if he decided to head to a bar instead of home after work: there's familiarity to it. Brendon's not sure if Jon's noticed, but if he hasn't, he'll catch on quickly.

Smith doesn't say anything to Ross. Instead he says to Brendon, "I told you to get out of my city."

"You ran into Superman before?" Ross asks.

Smith nods. Brendon takes inventory of him now that there's good lighting. Smith looks ridiculous dressed up as a giant bat. Brendon clamps down his laughter.

The man in the cage goes into some sort of lunatic rage. The only words Brendon can make out are "You'll never get away with this." Which, great. Every criminal ever says that. The mad scientists say it twice as much. Of course, metas are known to say that from time to time, mostly while being dangled over a live volcano, but that was usually a true statement instead of raving lunacy.

Brendon doesn't have a clue as to what this lunatic wants, but Smith and Ross do. They momentarily forget about Brendon and Jon to focus on the man in the cage.

Smith yanks the balaclava off the man in the cage. He's a scruffy-looking man with wild brown hair.

"I figured as much," Smith scoffs.

Ross raises an eyebrow. "Rann. This is low. Even for you."

Brendon looks to Jon. Jon shrugs.

Smith turns to Brendon and Jon. "Leave."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "If we go, so does the cage," he points out.

Jon nods.

"Rann stays here," Smith growls. "You leave."

Jon looks to Brendon.

"Whatever," Brendon says. "He's not bullet-proof, though."

Smith growls.

"Fine, fine," Jon says. The cage disappears, and Rann tries to escape.

Smith grabs Rann and nearly lifts him off his feet.

"Let's go," Brendon mutters.

He wants to leave through the skylight, just to spite Smith, but that's a bitchy move, and Brendon's not _that_ cruel. Plus, it might ruin his cape; the glasses were bad enough.

~

"Pete's letting us stay," Jon says. "But he still wants our work in by the deadline. And he expects this new article to be the best fucking article ever."

"That's fine," Brendon says as he flops backwards onto his bed. "God, Smith's a douche."

Jon raises an eyebrow. "Smith?"

"Oh," Brendon says. "You hadn't figured that out yet?"

"_Smith_ is the _Batman_?" Jon asks incredulously.

"Uh," Brendon says. "Yeah."

"Huh," Jon says. "That would explain why Ross was so at ease with him there."

"And why the Batman's such a douche," Brendon adds.

"He did have a crappy childhood," Jon reminds him.

"So did I," Brendon shoots back. "But I don't womanize or dress up as a giant bat."

Jon snorts.

"Okay," Brendon amends. "So I went through a phase when I moved to Metropolis, but the point still stands."

"And you wear tights," Jon adds.

Brendon scoffs. "Like you've very made a stupid move and then had to be stuck with it. I mean, I'd love a different superhero name. Like… I don't know, something a lot more exciting than _Superman_."

"What's wrong with the name?" Jon asks.

"For all of Pete's creativity, he could have done a lot better than that," Brendon says. "Anyway, let's compile a list of questions for Smith about his latest tech, which, oh my God! The Batman is totally going to use that tech." Brendon sniggers to himself.

Jon smiles.

~

 

Jon had decided that Brendon needs to make peace with Smith, so Brendon had gone off to bother Smith at work. He had even set up an appointment beforehand. And really, who works on a Saturday?

Smith isn't happy to see Brendon, though. Despite Brendon's friendly tone and smile.

"Mr. Smith," Brendon says as he holds out a hand for Smith to shake. Smith doesn't take it. "I wish to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was highly unprofessional of me, and with your permission, I'd like to ask a few serious questions about your tech."

"No, Urie," Smith says. "No more questions from you. How the hell did you make it past security?"

"Zack loves me!" Brendon states. "And he thinks you should lighten up about what's really important. Plus, I recall he said to you that you need good press."

"You're not good press," Smith says flatly.

"I've come waving the white flag of peace," Brendon says.

Smith narrows his eyes at him.

Brendon sits down in the chair across from Smith's desk. "I have the next hour of your time, Smith."

Brendon hears something off in the distance. He's always hearing people in distress off in the distance. Hopefully Jon will deal with it.

Smith's hardened expression softens, and Brendon thinks that he has some hope of actually conducting this interview. His head buzzes in anticipation.

Except Smith collapses, hitting his head on the corner of his desk, and Brendon's head isn't buzzing with anticipation. It's buzzing with chemicals.

Brendon bolts over to Smith and checks for a pulse. It's still there, but it's weak. Smith is bleeding from where his head connected with the desk.

There's something strange about the chemicals used to gas Smith's office. Brendon's never been affect by Earth chemicals, but this is different. This is –

~

 

It's dark, and there are voices shouting. One is screaming.

Brendon is alone in the dark, and Smith is the one who's screaming.

Brendon's hands are zip-tied behind his back, and it doesn't take much effort to free himself. His pockets are empty: no cell phone, no wallet, no notepad.

Light floods the room, and by the time it takes Brendon's eyes to adjust, the light disappears. There's scraping and an "oof."

"Smith?" Brendon asks.

Smith groans.

"Fuck." Brendon scrambles over to him and places a finger on Smith's carotid artery. "Smith," Brendon hisses. "You awake?"

Smith groans again. "Yeah," he breathes out.

"I'm going to scan you for broken bones," Brendon announces. It's always best to announce when he's about to use his x-ray vision.

"'K," Smith whispers.

Brendon starts at Smith's feet and rakes his eyes up to the top of Smith's head. He has a fracture in a rib, a dislocated wrist, and judging by the intense smell of iron, several open wounds.

"Shit, Smith," Brendon says softly. He can't break out of wherever they are, not with Smith in his current state. First off, Brendon doesn't know where they are and if the entire building will come down around their ears if he breaks through a load-bearing wall. Secondly, Smith wouldn't be able to take the impact if Brendon were to carry him through the wall.

"There's a light switch," Smith says.

Brendon gropes along the wall until he finds it. "Close your eyes," he warns before flicking the light switch.

Brendon's eyes adjust quickly to the harsh, fluorescent light, and he takes immediate inventory of Smith's injuries. It is exactly as Brendon thought. There are cuts all over Smith's face, and a huge bruise has formed where he hit the corner of his desk earlier, and it frames a large cut. The rest of the cuts seem to be from a knife or something else with a blade.

"You need to keep breathing shallowly," Brendon says. "You have a fractured rib and dislocated wrist. And probably a concussion."

"Great," Smith mutters.

"You're going to need a doctor soon," Brendon says.

"Well," Smith says.

"Well what?" Brendon asks.

"Break us out of here," Smith says.

"It's not that simple," Brendon protests.

"What's not simple about super strength?" Smith glowers at Brendon.

"Physics," Brendon explains. "But Jon will come."

"Jon?" Smith asks.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "My… friend."

"Oh," Smith says. "Well, it won't matter when they torture _you_."

"God, Smith," Brendon says with a humorless laugh. "Even when you're in such a horrible state, you're still an asshole."

"Saraceno broke his fingers on your face," Smith states.

"You _know_ who captured us," Brendon accuses. "That would have been something to share with the class before you decided to be a douche."

Smith glares at him.

"Fine," Brendon says. "I haven't been the most professional – for either of my jobs – but we're not playing on your terms anymore, Smith. This is – It's no wonder you don't have any – " Brendon cuts himself off. He wants to apologize, not antagonize. "We need to work together here. And you're right: physical torture won't work on me. But that doesn't mean that other types of torture won't work either."

Brendon sits down against the wall.

"Tell me about our captors," he says.

Smith sighs quietly. "They used to work for Cobra Chemicals."

"_Used_ to work for _Cobra Chemicals_," Brendon repeats. That can mean nothing good.

"The CEO went straight," Smith explains. "Saporta," he adds. Yeah, Brendon knows all about Saporta. His mob connections are – were legendary. "He fired them, and they didn't take it too well."

Brendon doesn't see what that has to do with their current situation, but he decides to bite his tongue and be patient.

"Hitt was the one who attacked me last night," Smith says. "Rann was the one who attacked Ryan last night. That leaves only Saraceno and his goons."

Smith pushes himself up on his good wrist. He sits upright for a moment, but Brendon can hear how much more labored Smith's breath is. Smith lies back down on the concrete floor.

"Off the record, Saporta and I are in negotiations for creating a merger between Cobra Chemicals and Smith Biotech," Smith says. "Saporta's second in command is set to take over for Smith Biotech. She's straight. I vetted her myself." Brendon can hear Smith's breathing become increasingly labored again, but Smith isn't moving, and Brendon worries.

"This has nothing to do with the infrared contacts?" Berndon presses. He knows he shouldn't, because he doesn't know how talking will effect Smith's breathing.

"No," Smith says. "Although one of Cobra's patents was used to synthesize the polymer for the plastic of the lenses."

"So you _do_ know about the tech," Brendon accuses.

Smith gives him a dirty look. "If this is all about your story – "

"It hasn't been since I woke up," Brendon cuts in. "This is about keeping you conscious."

"…Oh," Smith says as if the thought had never occurred to him. His breathing sounds even worse than earlier, and Brendon's trying not to think of the gurgle that's building up in one of Smith's lungs.

The door opens again, and Brendon has to keep from laughing. The man on the other side is dressed like a supervillain – a very tacky supervillain. There must be something in the Gotham water system that makes everyone nuts. It looks like the guy is still stuck in the '80's: there's neon all over the place. And _fringe_. Brendon's scandalized. The supervillian's cowl covers less than a domino would, and Brendon would be able to identify this guy in a line-up if he wasn't wearing his tacky costume.

"It's time for your treatment," he tells Smith happily. He looks to Brendon. "You're awake." There's a sour note to his voice.

"You're not taking him anywhere," Brendon says in his best Superman voice: the one that makes bystanders clap and villains look for a quick escape.

The villain gives Brendon a sarcastic look and grabs Smith by his very expensive lapels.

Brendon doesn't think. He pushes himself off the concrete; his fist connects with the villain's throat before he can stop himself. Unsurprisingly, the villain goes down, taking Smith with him.

The crack Brendon hears is from Smith's chest.

"Shit," Brendon hisses.

Smith writhes from underneath the villain and struggles free. He starts coughing.

Brendon races over to him and pulls him the rest of the way out from under the villain.

Smith coughs up blood, and Brendon loses his shit. He scoops Smith up – bride style, mindful of the now-broken rib – and runs.

They're in a basement. Brendon finds a stairwell at the same time the underlings find that he and Smith have escaped.

"Hey, you!" one of them yells. "Stop!"

As if that ever works.

One of them fires a gun. The bullet hits Brendon in the shoulder, which only irritates the skin there. It doesn't penetrate the skin, but it's still hot. It's rather refreshing, actually: normally the henchmen have horrid aim.

The stairwell has an open center. Brendon takes advantage of this by flying directly up the middle to the roof-access door. He uses his back to open that door, accidentally jarring Smith's feet.

Smith makes a small grunt of pain.

It's dark out. They must have been in there for a long time.

Once they're on the roof, Brendon says, "Which way is the hospital?"

"No hospital," Smith wheezes.

"Look, you stubborn bastard, you've punctured a fucking lung. You need – "

"Bring me home," Smith says faintly. "Zack'll take care of it."

"Oh for," Brendon grumbles. Of course Zack'll take care of it. Brendon should have known that Zack Hall would know about the Batman thing. Smith would need someone to stitch him up after a bad night. "Which way?"

"West," Smith says. "The mansion outside of the city."

Brendon doesn't comment about excess or about not living within city limits. He's very proud of himself. He also makes sure not to break the sound barrier or anything, because he feels that would only serve to aggravate Smith's injuries.

Smith passes out about a mile out, so Brendon is left to conclude that the giant mansion belongs to Smith and the not-so-excessive mansion belongs to someone else. Actually… is that a guest house?

Brendon has to circle the house twice to figure out where the front door is: this mansion probably has several bathrooms the size of Brendon's apartment.

Brendon rings the doorbell with his elbow. "Zack!" He shouts.

Zack answers the door, which is a relief, because the last time Brendon saw Zack he was in the city proper.

"Fuck," Zack says.

"Medical aid now, explanations later," Brendon says. "Where do you want him?"

"Up the stairs, right, then third door on the left," Zack says. "I'll join you in a minute."

Zack disappears into a room, and Brendon flies Smith to the room Zack indicated. It's a bedroom.

Brendon is able to place Smith gently down on the bed. He props Smith's busted wrist up on a pillow before he removes Smith's shoes. He carefully removes Smith's suit jacket, and Smith's button-down is – well, Brendon is glad that Smith can afford more, because he's not sure he'll be able to find where all the buttons have gone.

Zack hurries into the room with a – it looks like a tackle box. He props it up against Smith's legs and gently pushes Brendon out of the way.

"Broken rib and dislocated wrist," Brendon says. "The rib punctured his lung. And he probably has a concussion."

Zack pops open the box and pulls out a syringe, yanking off the plastic covering over the needle with his teeth. He fills it with something and stabs it in Smith's abdomen where the bruising is. Brendon feels a little queasy.

Ross runs into the room.

"Out," he tells Brendon.

Brendon leaves.

~

 

Brendon crashes hard from his adrenaline rush. He always does. He sits against the wall on the top step of the stairs. That's where Ross finds him.

"Is Smith going to be okay?" Brendon asks groggily.

"He's stable," Ross says. "What the fuck happened? And why did the Green Lantern show up at my lab this afternoon?"

"Oh, fuck!" Brendon exclaims. "Can I borrow your phone? I, uh, mine's gone."

Ross gives Brendon a look but hands over his phone.

Brendon is always losing his phone or having it broken in some fashion, so he has all of his contacts memorized. Brendon punches Jon's number into Ross's phone before Brendon even thinks it.

"Hello?" Jon answers cautiously.

"It's Brendon," Brendon says.

"Oh, thank God," Jon sighs. "Whose phone is this?"

"Ryan Ross's," Brendon says. "There was an… incident with Smith."

"I know," Jon says. "I went to shake down Ross to see what the hell had happened."

"So he told me," Brendon says.

"Are you okay?" Jon asks, which he totally should have asked first. Brendon's going to lament about that later.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Brendon tells him. "Smith isn't, but according to Ross he's stable."

"What the fuck happened?" Jon demands.

"I'd rather not say over the phone," Brendon says, glancing at Ross. Ross attempts to look innocent as if he hadn't been listening in on Brendon's conversation.

"You two didn't get into a fight," Jon says in a tone that's far too accusatory for Brendon's taste.

"No, we didn't," Brendon says.

"Good," Jon says. Brendon can tell he's smiling. "Where are you?"

"Smith's mansion," Brendon says in as blasé a tone as he can manage. Because, oh my God, he's in _Spencer Smith's mansion_.

"Is there clean-up involved in this?" Jon asks.

"Not with a broom," Brendon says, glancing over to Ross. "We can discuss this later."

"What happened to your phone, by the way?" Jon asks.

"See if you can run the GPS on it," Brendon says.

"A challenge!" Jon exclaims. "I'll take you up on that."

"Good," Brendon says. "I'll see you later." He closes up Ross's phone and hands it back to him.

"Why is Spencer hurt but you're not?" Ryan demands.

"He was the one they wanted," Brendon says. "I was just circumstantial."

"They?" Ross presses.

"It'll be taken care of, don't worry," Brendon says. He doesn't look Ross in the eye.

"How did you escape?" Ross presses.

"Uh," Brendon says.

Zack joins them, saving Brendon from actually answering.

"Spencer's awake," Zack says.

Ross bolts into Smith's bedroom and closes the door behind him, leaving Brendon with Zack.

"So," Zack says. "What's your name?"

"Brendon Urie," Brendon says with a frown. He'd introduced himself to Zack before. He'd even done Zack's job the night before.

"Your _other_ name," Zack clarifies.

"Oh," Brendon says in a small voice. "Superman." If Zack knows all about Smith as the Batman, he should have no trouble keeping his lips sealed about Brendon as Superman.

"Really?" Zack asks incredulously.

Brendon frowns. "What?"

"I don't believe the man part," Zack says with a shrug. "You can't be much older than 21."

"Hey!" Brendon protests. "I am the top science correspondent for _The Daily Planet_. And I'm 26."

"That's cool," Zack says. "No one would ever expect you to be Superman."

Brendon sputters.

"Thanks for bringing Spencer back," Zack says.

"You're welcome," Brendon manages. "Is he going to be okay?"

"He's had worse," Zack says. "His ski trip in Aspen last winter ended with three broken bones." Brendon remembers the gossip magazines were set aflame with Smith's problems out in Aspen. None of which involved an actual ski slope.

"And several venereal diseases," Brendon mutters.

Zack laughs heartily. "You're good people," he says. "And you're probably hungry. Let's go down to the kitchens."

"Kitchens plural?" Brendon asks skeptically – hopefully.

"Yup," Zack says. "And if you want to invite your Green Lantern friend, that'd be okay too."

Brendon gives Zack a critical look. "Smith doesn't like metas on his turf."

"If you weren't on his turf, he'd probably be dead," Zack says.

Brendon hadn't thought of it that way, but Zack is more than right.

~

 

Brendon has almost finished off an entire pizza by himself. Zack and Jon look on with slight awe, and Jon grabs his second slice.

"It's like watching a car accident," Jon explains to Zack. "Don't watch too closely or you'll lose your lunch."

"Hey!" Brendon objects.

"How do you stay so skinny?" Zack asks. "You defy biology."

"Not human," Brendon reminds them.

"Many people have tried to drink him under the table," Jon says. "It's entertaining to watch but not when you're the one trying to win."

"I have a high metabolism," Brendon says. "And it's not that funny. Half of my paycheck goes to groceries and the other goes to rent."

"What about if you want to buy something?" Zack asks. "For entertainment or something."

Brendon shrugs. "I don't."

"Gifts are given to Superman all the time," Zack states.

"I give them to charities," Brendon says with another shrug. "They need the money more than I do. Sometimes the money goes to rebuilding the city after I accidentally damage it."

Ross joins them. "You ordered pizza while Spencer is upstairs fighting for life?" he asks in disgust.

"He's not fighting for life, Ryan," Zack says. "Sit and eat some pizza."

Ross eyes the pizza boxes. "You've already gone through one pie?"

"Brendon has," Jon says.

Ross eyes Brendon with the same distressed look he gave the empty pizza box. He eventually grabs a slice.

"Will someone now explain what is going on," Ross demands then takes a vicious bite of his slice of pizza.

"You can trust Ryan, too," Zack says.

"I've already figured out that you're Superman and the Green Lantern," Ross says. "I meant with Spencer."

"Uh," Brendon says as everyone turns to him. "We were kidnapped from Smith's office. They used some sort of knock-out gas. It worked on me, too, which is weird, because nothing naturally occurring on Earth can do that to me. Well, nothing I'd encountered so far.

"They tortured Smith and I guess tried to torture me, but that didn't work, so they just tortured Smith some more. I don't know what they wanted, but Smith didn't tell them.

"He was in bad shape, so I broke us out and came here. He refused to go to the hospital."

"Of course he did," Ross says. "The paparazzi would be over him like flies on shit."

"Smith knew who they were," Brendon adds.

"The Midtown Gang," Ross says.

"The who?" Brendon asks.

"Saporta went straight," Ross says.

"Wait, wait, _Gabe_ Saporta?" Jon asks. "That's different."

"You've dealt with Saporta?" Brendon asks.

"Yeah," Jon says. "That conference in Phoenix. Apparently he's a friend of Bill's."

"Of course," Brendon says. Everyone of questionable morals is friends with William.

"Saporta went straight, you say?" Jon presses.

Ross nods. "It's the rest of the Midtown Gang that's causing the problem."

"Does that have to do with Smith or the Batman?" Jon asks.

"Smith," Brendon says. "They took Smith captive."

"And you," Jon adds with a meaningful look.

"And me," Brendon adds with a heavy sigh.

"What do they want?" Jon asks.

"As near as I can tell," Ross says. "To cause trouble."

"Smith told me, off the record," Brendon says, "that they were pissed about Cobra Chemicals wanting to merge with Smith Biotech."

"It doesn't have to do with the infrared contacts?" Jon asks.

"That's what I asked!" Brendon exclaims.

"What about all those holes in the story?" Jon presses.

"Off the record," Ross says, giving both Brendon and Jon an intense glare. "Spencer wanted them for when he heads out at night." He then unnecessarily adds, "As Batman."

"Oh," Jon says. "Do you know what exactly they want?"

"As far as we can tell, Midtown wants to prevent the merger," Zack says.

"Why?" Brendon asks.

Ross shrugs and finishes off his slice of pizza.

Brendon turns to Jon. "This looks like a job for a reporter."

Jon returns Brendon's smile.

~

 

Before they leave Smith's mansion, Brendon checks in on Smith. Smith is very much awake but obviously not in the mood for conversation with Brendon. Smith stares out the window. And even with bandages covering the majority of his face, Smith is still beautiful. Brendon's relieved Smith doesn't open his mouth and ruin the illusion.

"I'm glad you're okay," Brendon says.

As he leaves, Smith whispers, probably under his breath, "Thank you."

Brendon smiles widely.

~

It takes Jon two phone calls and a favor to grant them an interview with Saporta. It's first thing the morning. Brendon can live with that; however, Jon needs two cups of coffee.

"You're going to need to pee halfway through the interview," Brendon complains as they sit in the waiting room.

"Too late," Jon says. He points to Saporta's assistant, who makes his way to them.

"Good morning," he says brightly. "Mr. Saporta will see you now."

He leads them into Saporta's office without even introducing himself.

"Gabe," the assistant says. "Your nine o'clock is here: Brendon Urie and Jonathan Walker of _The Daily Planet_."

"Thanks, Nate," Saporta says. Nate nods and backs out of the office. "Sit, gentlemen."

There's an element of mockery in Saporta's voice, but Jon and Brendon sit anyway.

Saporta is everything Brendon has imagined from the description of his behaviors, down to and including his garish tie. It blinds Brendon whenever he looks at it. Maybe the neon is leftover from when Saporta worked with the rest of the Midtown Gang. Maybe it's not a leftover and Saporta still works with the Midtown Gang.

"I'm Jon Walker, and this is my colleague Brendon Urie," Jon introduces. "We have a few questions regarding Cobra Chemicals."

"_The_ Brendon Urie?" Saporta asks with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" Brendon states.

Saporta tosses _The Gotham Times_ across his desk.

Brendon stares down at his own image. "Fuck," he breathes out. Pete wasn't kidding when he said Brendon making news is sexier than him writing it.

"Brendon," Jon says warily.

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon says distractedly. "That's me. But we're here to talk to you about Cobra Chemicals."

"Alright," Saporta says. "What can I do for you boys?"

"We are wondering if you could tell us about Cobra's latest tech," Jon says.

Saporta smirks at them and discusses the latest patent-pending polymer that will change the way of the world. He concludes with, "And why are you boys really here?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Brendon says with his best disarming smile.

"The reason you're really here," Saporta says. "This is about Rob."

"Rob?" Brendon asks with a frown.

"Rob Hitt," Saporta says. He jabs the newspaper with a forefinger.

"What is your currently relationship with Hitt?" Brendon asks. There's no reason for pretense. Not when Saporta can see right through them… Not like they are really trying to hide anything.

"We broke off our partnership months ago," Saporta says. His expression closes off. "The same goes for Tyler Rann, and Heath Saraceno."

"Did you fire them or did they quit?" Jon asks.

"A little of both," Saporta says.

"And your new staff?" Brendon asks.

"Victoria Asher has stepped up and been as awesome as she can be," Saporta says.

"Asher," Jon repeats, looking to Brendon. Brendon's never heard of her before, but he assumes that means Jon has.

"Is she the one heading up the negotiations on the Smith Biotech merger?" Brendon asks.

Saporta smirks at them. "I see you've been talking to Smith." He looks very carefully at Brendon until he blushes. "I see you've been doing a bit more than _talking_ to Smith." Saporta waggles his eyebrows.

Jon gives Brendon a look. Brendon has no idea what that particular look means.

"This is a professional visit," Brendon reminds everyone.

"Nah," Saporta says. "You haven't written down a single thing I've said."

Brendon tries not to look guilty.

"I can only come to the conclusion that your sources have given you something juicy about Rann, Saraceno, and Hitt," Saporta says.

"I think that's all for today, Mr. Saporta," Jon says hastily. "We'll contact your assistant if we have any follow-up questions."

Brendon gives Jon a look and not for the first time wishes he has telepathy instead of super strength.

~

"Saporta has nothing to do with what happened to Smith," Jon states as they leave the building. "And he doesn't have any ties to the Midtown Gang anymore."

"How the hell did you come to that conclusion?" Brendon demands. "I just got the feeling he was a creep."

"That's why you deal with science and I deal with people," Jon points out.

Brendon snorts. "If you say so."

"Now we need to speak with Asher," Jon says.

"Do you know her?" Brendon asks.

"We're about to," Jon says. He points to a girl grabbing coffee from a street vender.

"Is that Asher?" Brendon asks. "How do you know?"

"Her picture was on Saporta's desk," Jon says.

Brendon narrows his eyes. "Were you using your ring to snoop?"

"Yes," Jon says sweetly.

"You're made of awesome, Jonathan Walker," Brendon says solemnly. "And kittens."

"And don't you forget it," Jon responds just as solemnly. He calls, "Victoria! Victoria!"

The girl turns to them, confused. "Hello?"

"We have a few questions for you," Jon says.

"I'm Brendon, and this is Jon," Brendon says. It never hurts to introduce oneself when trying to prevent horrible things from happening.

She gives them a bland look. "I need to get back to work."

"We want to know about Smith Biotech," Brendon says before she can run away.

"Who are you?" Asher demands. "Who do you work for?"

"_The Daily Planet_," Jon says.

"The media," she says quietly. "My comment is 'no comment.'"

She walks away and disappears into the crowd.

"Well, that wasn't productive," Brendon says.

"That just means we need to try a different angle," Jon says with a grin. He holds up his ring.

"So nefarious," Brendon says in awe. "You missed your calling as a villain."

"I would never have been given the ring if that were the case," Jon reminds him. "But first, Pete gave you a deadline."

Brendon sighs. "You _are_ a villain."

~

After Brendon had sent his piece about the infrared contacts to Pete (it turned out to be a fluff piece), he and Jon visit Smith again. Smith is awake with one arm in a sling held tightly against his chest, whining to Ross and Zack in a scratchy voice.

"Smith heals quickly," Jon observes. "Is he meta or – "

"Is it nanobots?" Brendon asks eagerly.

"No," Ross says with a frown. "Those only exist in bad science fiction."

"Well, what was it?"

"Smith Biotech," Ross says. "Company secret."

"He had a punctured lung, Ross," Brendon says. "That's not something that heals overnight – especially without intubation."

"He'll be fine," Ross says.

Smith gives him a nasty look.

"He's just being a baby right now," Ross continues undeterred. "If he were in a hospital, he'd still have a tube down his throat. He should be grateful his best friend is a genius."

Smith scoffs. "What did you find out?" he says in a very gravely voice. The more he speaks, the worse his voice becomes.

"Saporta doesn't have anything to do with the Midtown Gang anymore," Jon says. "And the Midtown Gang knows about Victoria Asher."

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Smith attempts to say. Most of the words don't come out, though.

"Saporta's smart," Jon says. "He knows the Midtown Gang went after you, and he wants to go through with the merger."

Smith nods tersely.

"We weren't able to figure out why Midtown doesn't want the merger, though," Brendon says. "Saporta's really good at deflecting." Brendon fights his blush. It is increasingly difficult to do so when Smith stares at him with very blue eyes.

"He might not know at all," Jon offers.

"He knows," Smith says. "He's made comments about it during the negotiation process." Again, only some of the words come out.

"What about Asher?" Brendon asks. "Does she know?"

Smith shrugs.

"We can ask her as Supes and GL," Brendon suggests.

He can hear Smith grind his teeth.

"She's more likely to trust them than us," Brendon continues. "She's still at the no comment part of this, but that's not going to keep her safe."

"She's well aware of the dangers of working with Gabe Saporta," Smith says. His raw voice is seriously making Brendon wince.

Ross snorts, and his phone rings. "This is Ryan Ross… I see… I'll let him know… Yes." He closes his phone. "That was Commissioner Bryar. He wanted to let Spencer and me know that Hitt and Rann broke out of jail earlier."

"Fuck," Smith says.

"Alright," Brendon says. "Zack and Ross are going to be here with you, right Smith?"

Ross nods.

"Good. I'll go visit Asher, and Jon can visit Saporta," Brendon suggests.

Jon nods, and Brendon doesn't wait for Smith and Ross to agree before he takes off.

~

Okay, Brendon probably should have asked where Asher was before he took off, but he ends up at Cobra Chemicals in costume, and that's good enough.

He zeros in on Asher's voice and heads in that direction, collecting stares as he goes. People always stare at his cape. It is an awesome cape.

Brendon finds Asher in her lab. She's very surprised to see him. In fact, she drops the erlenmeyer flask in her hand.

"You're not authorized to be here," she says skeptically as she fetches a ream of paper towels. "Are you lost?"

"Nope," Brendon says cheerfully.

He hears the squeak of sneakers on linoleum. Those sneakers are coming closer.

"Um," she says. "Why are you here?" She places a few towels on the floor over the puddle and shards of glass and steps on them with the toes of one foot. "I suppose I should be grateful that there was just water in the flask," she muses.

"You'll see in a moment," Brendon promises.

"Did Gabe tell you something?" she asks. "You're not really the sort Gabe deals with, though."

The man Jon had placed in a cage bursts through the door. He looks just as surprised as Asher had.

"So," Brendon says. "You want to prevent the merger so bad that you'll kill the lovely Victoria here?"

The man takes out a gun. "There will not be a merger between Cobra and Smith," he declares.

Brendon steps in front of him. "But you haven't said why."

The man fires at Brendon. Brendon sighs and looks to the bullets as they bounce off his chest and onto the ground.

Asher rummages around behind him, but Brendon ignores that. It's not important. Brendon doesn't take his eyes off the man. Unfortunately, the man grabs a flask from the table and throws it into Brendon's face, which not cool!

Brendon quickly scrubs whatever was in the flask off his face, but the man ducks around Brendon.

A shot is fired, and by the time Brendon turns around, the man is on the ground bleeding from the shoulder.

Asher gives Brendon an indignant look. "I _can_ take care of myself," she says. "I do work with Gabe."

"Oh," Brendon says.

"No offence," she says. She places her gun down on the lab bench.

Brendon takes the man's gun and crushes it beyond function.

"Okay," he says. He looks down at the man, who's bleeding all over the floor. "I suppose you should call an ambulance and the cops."

Asher gives him an unimpressed look.

Brendon smiles cheekily.

~

Brendon meets up with Jon back at Smith's mansion. The man Jon had gone after wasn't able to do much damage with a broken arm, so Jon had it easy.

"So now everyone's in police custody?" Brendon asks.

"You took care of one, and Jon took care of one," Smith says with a glare. His voice sounds even worse than it did earlier. "That leaves one left. That's basic arithmetic."

Brendon scowls. "No one came for you?"

Smith shakes his head.

"Oh," Jon says. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Because he's stubborn," Ross grumbles.

"Where's Zack?" Brendon asks. Zack has been conspicuously absent.

"He's running errands," Smith explains with a sneer. "It seems that yesterday I punctured a lung."

"He's cranky because we're out of pain meds," Ross translates.

Smith glares at Ross.

"Do you think he can be targeted?" Brendon asks.

"No," Smith says automatically. "They'll target me. They already have."

"So we just wait?" Brendon asks. Okay, he sort of whines that question. He looks pleadingly at Jon.

"I have an even better idea: let's hunt down your phone," Jon proposes. He turns to Ross. "Is there any place Spencer can be kept out of danger?"

"In the cave," Ross says. "That only the three of us know about."

Smith gives him a chagrined look or it could just be pain.

"Cool," Jon says at the same time Brendon says the same thing. The inflections in their voices are completely different: Jon says it in an abstract way, whereas Brendon says it in a way that means he wants to see it.

"Okay," Jon says. "Brendon and I are going to their evil lair. We'll be back soon."

~

Jon had located Brendon's phone using the GPS, which only was able to tell Jon where the phone is, not that it happens to be in the middle of the hospital. Hospitals and evil lairs don't mix well, especially when the superheroes come in to destroy said evil lair. Actually, it is fairly ingenious, playing upon the fact that superheroes don't hurt innocents.

Brendon's phone, wallet, and notepad are in a cabinet in one of the surgery prep rooms.

There are no villains in sight, though. Just a startled nurse.

"Probably shouldn't have left Smith," Brendon muses. If the villains aren't in the evil lair, that means they're out causing mayhem and destruction.

Jon gives him a crooked look.

"Shut up," Brendon says primly. "I hate you."

"Was this where you and Smith were held?" Jon asks.

"If we were, I'm glad I _didn't_ bring Smith to the hospital," Brendon says. "We were kept in a basement. Wanna check?"

"Always," Jon says with a grin.

~

The henchmen are in the basement. It takes Brendon 3.46 minutes to neutralize all the henchmen. Brendon knows this because Jon had counted.

"You always make me do all the hard work," Brendon complains.

"Only one of us is bullet-proof," Jon reminds him.

Brendon looks down to all the bullets and casings on the floor and concedes that Jon may have a point. Well, Brendon is bullet-proof, but his clothes most definitely are not.

"So," Brendon says. "That's a lot of evil henchmen. Where's the boss?"

"Maybe you had a point about not leaving Smith," Jon says.

Brendon's satisfaction about being right is short-lived.

"I'll tell the cops about the henchmen," Jon says. "You go to Smith."

Brendon wants to be upset with Jon, but really? Smith is in danger.

~

Of course, the tacky supervillain is at Smith's mansion when Brendon arrives. Zack is frozen. The time-stopped-only-for-me type of frozen, which is so not good.

Brendon hears gunshots and races into the bowels of Smith's mansion.

Ross stands between Smith and tacky supervillain. Ross has a gun pointed at the villain and the villain has a gun pointed at Ross.

"Hey!" Brendon shouts.

It only serves to distract Ross, which is not what Brendon is going for. He wanted to distract the villain.

The villain takes the opportunity to attack Smith, charging and pistol whipping Smith over the day-old bruise from where he had hit the corner of his desk.

Ross manages to shoot the villain in the stomach, but that doesn't stop him.

Smith is cornered and hurt. That's all it takes for Brendon to go into Superman-ultra-battle mode. The villain never knows what hits him.

It's Brendon's fist.

~

"All taken care of," Brendon says with satisfaction.

Jon gives him an amused look but says nothing.

"Good," Ross says. "When will Zack be normal again?"

Brendon shrugs. "I have no clue what kind of ray he was hit with."

"That's nice, Urie," Smith growls. "Get off me."

Brendon looks down to where his hips straddle Smith's. Brendon blushes spectacularly and hastily backs away.

"I'll take care of the villain," Jon says, eyeing the unconscious man on the other side of the room.

"I may have broken a lot of his bones," Brendon admits sheepishly.

Jon gives Brendon a look that – yeah, Jon won't call Brendon on his… particular zeal for keeping Smith safe. Jon's cool like that.

Ross tends to Smith, providing the leverage to peel him up from the floor. It looks difficult, using Smith's good hand only.

"I'll – I'll move Zack to someplace he can unfreeze without hurting himself," Brendon ends up saying to an empty room.

~

Brendon places Zack in one of the guest rooms.

Brendon cautiously makes his way to Smith's bedroom. Just to make sure he's okay. Cautiously means that Brendon checks to see where Ross is (on the other side of the mansion) and makes sure his feet don't touch the ground.

Smith is pacing.

"What are you doing here?" he demands. There's really no heat to it, just fatigue. Reluctance.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Brendon says.

"Oh," Smith says. "I've dealt with worse lowlifes."

"That's not what I meant," Brendon says.

"Well?" Smith prompts, and Brendon realizes he's been quiet.

"I mean with everything that's happened," Brendon says. "With me and Jon being in Gotham. I don't know."

Smith raises his eyebrows. "For someone who makes a living with words, I expected you to be more eloquent."

"Well, you're the jerk I knew you were, so thanks for living up to my expectations," Brendon says heatedly. Okay, maybe that's just the adrenaline crash talking, because that's something Brendon never planned to say out loud let alone to Smith's face.

Smith's scowl dissolves into a brilliant smile, and Brendon's really confused. And slightly turned on. He needs to back out of Smith's room before he does something stupid.

"You're one of the three people to say that to me," Smith says.

"Uh," Brendon says. "I'm going to head back to Metropolis with Jon. You can handle the Midtown Gang? I mean, I totally have to be back for the trial and all, but I do need to head home, because my boss set a deadline, and he's not made of money. But that probably means nothing to you, because you _are_ made out of money. I mean, not literally.

"I'm going to go now," Brendon concludes.

He backs out of Smith's room and quickly makes his way out.

~

Smith looks utterly delicious in his tuxedo. Brendon watches him from the other side of the room as speeches are made and people are congratulated. It's the official unveiling of Smith Biotech's merger with Cobra Chemicals, and Brendon needs to be there. Pete has permanently assigned Brendon to cover all of Smith's _business_ moves. The emphasis is Pete's. Jon emphasized the last word. Then he and Pete had giggled about it.

Smith catches Brendon's eye from across the room and makes his way over. Smith then hustles Brendon into an adjacent room and closes the door behind them.

"What – What's – What do you want?" Brendon asks ineloquently.

Smith gives him an easy smile. Brendon feels his heart swell and his throat constrict. He swallows hard as Smith invades his personal space.

"I am not a conquest, Smith," Brendon says plainly.

"Spencer," Smith – Spencer corrects.

"I'm not a conquest, Spencer," Brendon repeats. "I want my name to stay out of the paper… unless I wrote something."

"You always seem to make the papers while in Gotham," Spencer says.

"Not always as me," Brendon says. "And I'm not going to be a conquest," he says for a third time.

"I'm not asking you to be a conquest," Spencer says. He hammers his mixed message home by placing a hand on the back of Brendon's neck, cupping the curve.

"It sure seems like that," Brendon says. He's really proud of his resolve.

"Something a little more permanent than that," Spencer says into Brendon's ear. "A partnership."

"Like the one with you and Saporta?" Brendon asks. "Jon was thinking about starting a superhero league."

"No," Spencer says. He chuckles lightly, making Brendon shiver. "Spencer Smith and Brendon Urie." He then lowers his voice. "Batman and Superman."

Brendon jerks in alarm. "…Is this a mutual partnership?"

Spencer brushes a lock of Brendon's hair away from his ear to whisper into it: "I want to test this faster than a speeding bullet accusation. I like to take my time with a lover."

Brendon braces himself against Spencer's chest, because it feels like his knees have staged a revolt. Seriously, he can resist a bullet but not Spencer.

"It's not that simple," Brendon says quietly. One of his hands slips underneath the lapel of Spencer's tuxedo and roams over his chest.

Spencer releases a low hiss when Brendon brushes a nipple. His mouth is still directly over Brendon's ear, and Brendon represses a shiver.

"I want to take my time with _you_," Spencer says.

"I – oh," Brendon says. "It is going to take time to work out. I'm not just saying that."

Spencer kisses down Brendon's jaw, and Brendon decides to fuck caution.

"It's the super strength," Brendon says as Spencer's teeth scrape at Brendon's neck.

Brendon's hand curls underneath Spencer's tuxedo. Spencer hisses. Brendon can't tell if it's a feel-good hiss or an in-pain hiss, so he withdraws his hand.

"You've messed up my tuxedo," Spencer says. He doesn't sound too angry, though.

"I guess that means it has to come all the way off," Brendon says with a grin.

Spencer smiles back.

The door scrapes open, and Saporta pokes his head in. "Hey, Smith – Oh, sorry, kids! I was going to say that you need to deal with the press, but I can see you're already doing that." He ducks back out cackling.

Spencer looks a little flush. Brendon feels like he's going to die from embarrassment. Except Spencer still has his hands on Brendon, and that makes him feel bold.

Brendon is not going to let that feeling pass. He smiles up at Smith. "You know that faster than a speeding bullet thing? I can also fly."

Spencer frowns at Brendon.

"I can fly us out of here so fast that no one will see anything."

Spencer smiles widely and brightly and brilliantly. God, he's so hot. And he's all Brendon's for the night.

"I didn't want to deal with the other reporters anyway," Spencer says. "You know where my bedroom is."

Brendon grins and wraps his hands around Spencer's trim waist. He dips his fingers to cup Spencer's ass. Spencer mirrors Brendon's actions and seems to enjoy Brendon's butt as well.

"Hold on tight." Not that Brendon's worried about Spencer letting go any time soon.

 

The end.


End file.
